


Under a Star-Strewn sky.

by Al_in_the_air



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Albus Potter also has PTSD, Albus potter has nightmares, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Harry Potter Has PTSD, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Harry and Albus talk about what happened in CC, Introspective Harry Potter, Kinda, Or at least he's trying his best, Panic Attacks, Talks of Death, These boys need a hug, They're traumatised bois, You've been warned, a lot of it, everyone is sad okay, harry potter is a good dad, oh and
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28988409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_in_the_air/pseuds/Al_in_the_air
Summary: The night after the events of Cursed Child, Harry can't sleep and when he checks on Albus, he realises he's not the only one struggling. It's been a rough few years but Harry finally has chance to be a better dad to Albus, and this time he wont mess it up.ORHarry comforts Albus after a nightmare, and they are finally honest with each other.
Relationships: Albus Severus Potter & Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	Under a Star-Strewn sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so it goes without saying - this includes CC spoilers, quite a lot of them, so if you don't wanna know, don't read.  
> Also, if you really don't like CC, you're probably not going to like this - you can leave, I don't mind :)
> 
> TW: There are some instances of bad mental health in this fic, including PTSD, panic attacks and survivor's guilt.

_ I’m going to curse that fucking tree down,  _ Harry though.  _ It’s ugly and stupid and so fucking loud. The second, the very second, I can bring myself to get up that tree is being cursed to the fucking ground. _

The reality was that the tree was not ugly, nor stupid, but it was loud, as the wind picked up outside, with it came the slamming of branches against the window. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. It was mocking and incessant, violent and really fucking personal, as if the wood was sentiently slapping against his skull and not just the double glazing. 

There wasn’t a single thread of light in their bedroom, but Harry’s eyes seemed to have adjusted enough to make out Ginny as she slept beside him, or maybe he’d just memorised her features enough to draw them in his mind. He was glad she was sleeping, neither of them had managed much since it all started. In fact, Harry could actually count the hours of sleep he’d managed over the last three days on his fingers, an hour here or there caught slumped across his desk or leaning back against his sofa; always waking to the realisation that the nightmare he was having was not one he could escape come morning and to immobilising that he’d even let his eyes close when he still didn’t know where Albus was. 

Yet, the threat was over now and Albus was safe now sleeping soundly in his bed and Harry could still not sleep. 

He was exhausted, so tired that  _ tired _ didn’t even cover it, his limbs ached where he lay, his eyes were stinging, there was a feeling as if someone was standing on his chest and yet sleep was still evading him. No, scrap that. It was being batted away from him with every tap, tap, fucking tap of that bastard tree.

Running his hands over his eyes, Harry let out a groan, so frustrated with himself and and his lack of sleep that the noise escaped him involuntarily. The panic that had lived in his chest all week had yet to fully dissipate and it took a real effort to keep staring up at the ceiling with his teeth gritted and pillow bundled up over his ears, forcing his breathing into a pattern that felt too slow and not let out the scream brewing in his throat. 

How could he have been so stupid?

40 years he had been Harry fucking Potter, he knew what that meant, so why did he ever think his bad luck would change? That destruction wouldn’t follow him around like his shadow? He’d gotten complacent, he supposed, because surely he’d already lived through every bad thing that could happen to a person, he’d most certainly lived through his worst halloween. How could it get any worse than being orphaned, abandoned at the Dursley’s and left to be neglected for the rest of his childhood? What could possibly be worse than that?

Well, as it turns out, there are a lot worse things, and as punishment for his ignorance he was now being forced to watch them unfold again and again and again every time he closed his eyes. If he was in the mood to be honest with himself - which he most certainly wasn't - this, the disjointed scenes and flashes of green playing on his eyelids, was probably the reason that he couldn’t sleep; not because of the tree, but because he kept seeing it, all of it, everything. 

There was the image of that girl cackling in triumph – a demented giggle he swore he could hear despite the thousands of miles between them now. Then there was the way Ginny had screamed and crumbled at the sight of that poor boy, sprawled on his back in the middle of the quidditch pitch, young with dark hair and light skin and slytherin robes, it could have been Albus, and for a moment they’d thought it was.

And yet worst of all was Albus’s frightened voice reverberating against church walls and the flash of green light that lit up the room, illuminating oil paintings and stained-glass windows as it missed his son by inches. He wasn’t supposed to be there, he was supposed to be safe and for the first time in years Harry was forced to face the reality of his legacy, that people die around him and his son could be next. And that he nearly was.

_ “… Oh. I’m bored, I’ll kill you.” Delphi said, her voice ringing with laughter. . _

_ He had been disarmed. He was defenceless and she was going to kill him. It was really only a matter of time; he’d know it from the second his wand slipped out of his hand, inevitable and inescapable. Yet he was never one to give up easily. Harry still ducked under spells, hid behind columns and rolled out of the way as she lifted and dropped the church pews on the spots he’s just stood.  _

_ “Avada – “  _

_ “Dad…” _

_ No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.  _

_ Harry looked around frantically, hoping beyond hope it was a trick but knowing in his bones that it wasn’t.  _

_ Albus was there, not safe behind lock doors or wrapped in the protective arms of his mother as he should have been, but shaking where he stood above an open grate, panicked but defiant as his eyes flitted across the scene - between his wandless father and very not-wandless Delphi. _

_ And swore that in that moment his heart stopped beating.  _

_ “Albus! No!” _

__ _ No, no, please, please, no. _

_ “Two of you?” The girl rejoiced with a wicked grin. “Choices, choices. I think I’ll kill the boy first.”  _

_ And she pointed Harry’s own wand at Al.  _

_ Harry was dead, he had to be. He must have died because this was his hell.  _

_ In that moment Harry just wanted to scream, to cry and beg because this wasn’t fair, he’d just found him, he had just got him back and she was trying to take him away again. Forever, this time.  _

_ “Avada Kedavra.”  _

_ And the the world slowed down, or sped up or stopped completely. Green light filled the hall and Albus gasped and Harry couldn’t breath and then it missed by less than an inch and then she tried again. And again. And again.  _

Never in his life had he felt fear like that, and never in his life had he considered he would have to because parents outlive their children, that was how it was, until suddenly it almost wasn’t. 

His son had almost, almost, almost died last night, and everything that had happened was his fault, because he was a terrible father, because he had said those things and because Al had been struggling for years and Harry,  _ his dad _ had known and done nothing about it. Harry had ignored the signs, the temper and the sensitivity, the way Albus had withdrawn and closed himself off, it was all very reminiscent of Harry’s behaviour when he was at his worst too. He hadn’t ignored it on purpose, he had tried, but part of him had thought Al was being selfish and ungrateful and the other part couldn't bring himself to believe that his son could be feeling like that. 

Everything that had happened since September, every single bit of it had been his fault. He may not have cast the spell, but he’d put the wand in Al’s hand. 

After a few minutes of ruminating on this and blinking hard at the ceiling, Harry silently climbed out of bed with the plan to venture downstairs and pour himself a large glass of something strong. He knew he wouldn’t sleep here, but maybe he’d find more comfort on the sofa, where he could keep the lights on and play the wireless, maybe those dulcet late night radio voices would distract him from his guilt long enough to let him sleep. 

But first, he’d go and check on Albus, just for a second, or maybe a minute, just to make himself feel better. 

Staggering through the hall, Harry’s path was lit by the tip of the wand he’s been clutching since he’s first laid down in bed. He was surprised when he entered Albus’ room to find it was already light, the lamp on his bedside table projecting thousands of constellations onto the ceiling and illuminating the child where he slept, and Harry felt like he could breath for the first time in hours. 

He'd always checked on his children as they slept, especially when they were young. He would wake up two, three, ten times a night in order to sneak into their bedrooms so he could watch their tiny chests rise and fall. It felt almost like a compulsion with how much he relied on this act to soothe himself, but it never really helped, especially because the Potter children were notoriously terrible sleepers.

James was the most active of the three, always had been, even as he slept he was constantly moving, rolling around and was often found fallen out of bed in a tangle of sheets or sleepwalking around various rooms of the house. Lily on the other hand seemed to function on no sleep at all, sleeping the least of – not only the potter kids – but every other child Harry had ever encountered. She seemed to live only to wake her parents at ungodly hours ready to play or sing or talk complete nonsense.

And then there was poor Albus, who’d spent most of his childhood plagued by night terrors that left him screaming and whimpering and crying for hours. At its worst, Harry and Ginny would have to get up at least once a night, every night, to soothe their terrified little boy and hold him until he fell back to sleep. He was glad Albus had grown out of it, but Harry still ached for the times when his kids thought he hung the stars and simply being held in their daddy’s arms was enough to make them feel safe.

Harry stepped further into the room and crouched down by Al’s bed, balancing on his toes and reaching forward to gently stroke his son's mess of hair out of his eyes. He stayed like that for a while, just because he could. Less than a day ago Harry was sitting on that bed, head in hands having to convince himself that Albus was still alive somewhere, having a hard time believing it. It wasn’t lost on Harry how lucky he was because not too far away was another set of parents at home knowing they’d never see their son again. 

“I love you so much.” Harry whispered leaning down to kiss his son’s forehead before straightening up and roughly swiping away the wetness on his cheeks. He turned to leave, needing that strong drink more than ever but before his hand had even touched the door handle he heard something; a rustling, a sob and a jumble of noise that sounded horribly like “please stop.”

Maybe Albus hadn’t grown out of the nightmares after all because within seconds he’d gone from peaceful sleep to whimpering and begging with his features pinched and his eyes watering heavily. 

Harry crouched back down by the edge of the bed, brushing Albus’s tears away without waking him. 

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispered despite knowing the affirmations fell unheard. “Shh, shh. It’s okay.

No matter how much he wanted to, Harry had to resist the urge to shake Albus awake, even as his whimpers grew louder, his word grew more coherent and his movements more pronounced. They’d learnt that the hard way when he was a kid that waking him just made things worse. More often than not, the tremors and tears would stop within minutes, and Albus would wake in the morning not remembering a thing, but if they ever woke him, or his own screams did, it could take hours to calm him back down. In those instances Albus would shake and cry, choke on his own panic and imagined horrors and there was little they could do to console him, very little else they could do but hold him tight until he finally fell asleep in their arms. 

Harry knew that, but still didn't like it. 

Back then, Harry would lie on his back while Albus curled up by his side. When the tears finally dried Harry would point to the star-strewn sky and ask Albus what constellation they were seeing and what the stars were. At one point he could name them all, but now he couldn’t remember a thing. 

Albus’s voice was raw and the fear in his tone and pain in his face was real, achingly so, even if the threat currently wasn't. “No please stop,” turned into shouted warnings and then to outright begging and cries of “Mum” and “Dad, No” and then to desperate apologies as he sobbed that he was sorry. 

“Oh sweetheart it’s okay.” Harry recited again and again, willing for it to be true. He could see Albus shivering despite his skin burning hot under Harry’s fingers as he gently pushed the hair from his son's face. “I love you so much, you're okay.”

He was whispering things he wished he’d heard when he was 14, when he would wake in the night, shaking and dripping with sweat, when he would end up crying into his pillow in the Dursley’s box room because he’d visited the graveyard again and he’d watched Cedric die again. He remembered so vividly what it felt like to wake up like that, disoriented, terrified, unable to catch his breath, with his throat sore from screaming and his whole body shaking; panicked, afraid and alone.

He had left Albus to deal with this alone. 

It was a couple of minutes before Albus woke himself up screaming. He bolted upright, shuffling to the head of his bed to get away from something neither of them could see, his voice got caught in his throat and he was clutching at his chest as he gasped for breath. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” 

“D-d-dad?”

“Yeah, it’s me, it’s okay.” Harry said, reaching out towards his son, hoping to comfort him but Albus flinched away violently as Harry touched his arm, shaking his head and gasping more violently as if he’d been burned.

Harry immediately pulled his hand away in surrender, holding them up so Albus could see them. Everything he did for this boy was wrong. He couldn’t even comfort his son without making things worse. 

He’d already started to get up as he said “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll - I’ll go get your mum.” 

“No,” Albus squeaked, desperate, pleading. “Don’t go.”

“Okay,” Harry said, keeping his hands visible by his side. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Harry sat back down, this time on the bed and not the floor, careful to stay still and not make any sudden movements. From here he could watch Albus properly, he looked like he could be sick, he was shaking so violently it was visible even in the half-darkness, he kept clawing at his throat and had tears streaming down his face.

“Sweetheart, come here.” Harry said, reluctant to move again in fear of scaring Albus even more. He wasn’t actually convinced Albus would move but as a particularly violent sob wracked his body, Albus crumpled, letting himself fall into his fathers welcoming embrace. He clutched his fathers shirt like a lifeline as he wept. 

They stayed like that for a while, Harry just holding his son tightly against his chest and stroking his hair as he whispered hushes and assurances of “It’s okay” and “you’re safe” while Albus just continued to cry. 

Suddenly it was as if Albus was 6 years old again, tiny and frightened after being chased in his dreams by monsters of his brother's invention, curled up and desperate for someone, his mum or his dad to keep him safe. Back when Harry was a good dad and when he could make things better, when Albus didn’t hate him and things weren’t this complicated and he was needed. 

It was so great to be needed. 

Harry knew, really knew, that the only reason Albus was so receptive to his affection was because he was sad and scared and tired, and that this was not a victory, not growth or even a step forward. Yet, Harry still allowed himself a minute to enjoy being needed and be grateful that after everything they were both still here. 

“Come on, Albus, it’s okay, It was just a nasty dream.”

Even held tightly to his father’s chest Albus managed to shake his head. “No. No. It wasn’t,” he sobbed, tears soaking through Harry’s pajama shirt.

When Albus began talking it was fast and disjointed, his words muffled by hysterical sobs and Harry could feel how his whole was quaking. “It- it - it’s like it's h-happening again. All of it. E-everything. Scorp- Scorpius got - t-tortured. She tried - she almost k-k-killed you, dad. And - and Craig’s d-d-dead. And it was a-a-all my fault, dad. It’s all my fault.”

“Oh sweetheart, shh, It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“It was. It was! I-I-I I went to her, I did what she asked, I didn’t s-s-stop her. If I hadn’t - if i’d - if I wasn’t so - ”

Harry - reluctantly - pulled himself away, just enough to see Albus’s face; it was blotchy and damp from all the tears. He couldn’t catch his breath with every bit of air that was sucked through his lips being expelled almost instantly. He looked so sad and small and tired and scared and it made his fathers heart jump. 

“Albus, Al, hey. I need you to look at me.” He did, with what seemed like tremendous effort. “This. Was. Not. Your. Fault. Okay? Not any of it. It was all her, she's the one who hurt people, not you. This was not your fault and I know that it probably doesn't feel that way and I know that you’re scared but you need to try and calm down a bit. Try and take a deep breath.”

Harry took an exaggerated breath, and then another and another for Albus to mimic, and he tried to, but ultimately his chest was still rising and falling in the same rapid and shallow way as before.

“I can’t” 

“Yes you can.” 

“I can’t” Albus wailed and he dropped his head onto his fathers shoulder. “I just want it to stop.”

“It will stop, Al. You’re just panicking, it won't last forever.”

“No dad,” something in his tone had changed, he was still sobbing, still wheezing, but he didn’t sound scared anymore. He just sounded tired. “I want everything to stop.”

Harry’s whole body stilled, his hands stopped stroking circles and his arms lost their grip and he could hear his heartbeat picking up in his ears. He feared the answer, but he asked the question anyway, “what, urm. What do you mean you want  _ everything  _ to stop?”

“Just - just  _ everything _ . Everything I do is wrong, I can’t do anything right,  _ ever _ . I- I - I can’t turn my brain off. I can’t stop thinking about the stupid things I’ve done and how bad this could have b-been and - and - and - all the people hurt becauase of me and it hurts dad, it really hurts and I need it to stop. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I need to stop but it won't because all of this, all of this is because of  _ me _ . Craig died because of  _ me _ . He’s  _ dead _ and it sh-should have been m-me. I wish it had been.”

Swallowing down the lump in his throat and letting out a long breath, Harry really thought about what to say next. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing or react the wrong way but he also knew that silence wasn’t helping and he couldn’t just retreat again. “I’m so sorry that you feel that way Sweetheart and I know it must be so hard for you, but please don’t wish things like that. What happened was terrible but it was not your fault. You are so good and so loved, so, so loved. If anything had happened to you I- I don't know what I would have done.”

Harry choked on the end of his sentence and now it was his turn to cry. He made no attempt to hide it and instead gripped tighter to Albus than he had all night. With no intention of letting go. 

He wanted to say more, he wanted to say so many more things, to tell his son that he was maybe the bravest person he knew, or that he knew what that guilt felt like and he would do anything in the world to take it away. Most of all he wanted to say how much his heart had just broken because this was  _ Albus _ , his son, his baby, one third of his heart but there was not a single combination of words in the world that could articulate how Harry would have felt if it had, in fact, been him who had died. 

How could Harry make Albus understand that he couldn’t comprehend a world without him in it? Or that if he had walked out onto that quidditch pitch and seen that wonderful mess of black hair and his son's body, or If those curses hit their targets, his heart would have stopped then too, that he would have collapsed where he stood and never got back up. Even the  _ thought _ of Albus like that was enough to bring Harry to his knees and it had, time and time again over the past few days. 

There didn’t seem to be enough words to describe how guiltily grateful he was, that he was getting to have this conversation at all. 

Harry just wanted to explain to his beautiful, kind hearted, funny, not-so little boy that he would give absolutely anything in the world to keep him safe. If it meant that Albus could keep screaming at his sister or sneaking ice cream in the middle of the night or continue secretly being Teddy’s favourite - there was nothing he wouldn’t do because Harry loved him more than his entire life.

Instead though, the pair of them stayed quietly bundled up together and Harry hoped that everything he wanted to say, Albus could feel. Harry went back to stroking his son's hair and whispering what he hoped were calming hushes. He kept counting out breaths, both for his son and himself to follow and after a while the sobs racking  Albus’s whole body slowed down until he was finally able to hold an (almost) full breath in his lungs.  Not perfect but better.

“Told you you could do it.” Harry whispered. 

Albus let out a noise that was  _ almost _ a laugh. “I don't like it when you're right.”

And Harry really did laugh though it was wet and spluttering and semi-hysterical . “You’re lucky it doesn't happen often then.”

They stayed like that until Harry felt Albus yawn against him. “Okay, think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?”

The nod he felt was all the confirmation he needed, and Harry let go, but not all the way.

“One more thing?”

“Yeah?”

“I am so sorry.” Harry whispered, taking a second to duck his head and compose himself before he continued. He needed this to be heard so he picked up his head and his voice and carried on. “I am so sorry that I shouted at you and I am so sorry that I said those unforgivable things. I was scared and frustrated and I should never have taken it all out on you Al, I am sorry. I love you more than you could even know and I most certainly do not wish you were not my son. And I really hope you can give me another chance to be a good dad to you. I love you and I am proud of you and I can’t quite believe that I made someone so kind and strong and brave.”

There was silence between them for just a second as Albus rolled the fabric of his duvet between his forefinger and thumb. It clearly took a lot in him to say “I didn’t feel brave.”

“That doesn’t mean you weren’t.” Albus nodded briefly and yawned again. “Come on, bed.”

He didn’t need telling twice and Albus climbed back under his bedsheets, wordlessly moving to one side of his mattress, leaving the other side very purposely empty. Harry lay on top of the sheets next to him, on his back and staring at the stars as Al curled up on his side.

“Al?” Harry whispered.

“Yeah?” Albus whispered back.

“What’s that one called?” 

“Which one?”

“The one that kinda looks like a horse.” Harry said, pointing ahead. 

Albus scoffed in indignation, “you mean Leo? Yours  _ and _ mum’s star sign?”

Harry laughed again, “Think I’m a bit rusty.” 

“Yeah, I’ll say. You need to ask Professor Sinistra for some lessons.”

“And why on earth would I do that when I have you?”

Albus nodded beside him, “I’ll give you a crash course at Christmas, but on the actual sky not these fake things.”

It was a deal, and by the small smiles that tugged on each of their lips both Albus and Harry were serious. They both settled down, eyes closing finally closing on the whole ordeal. 

“Dad?” Albus whispered, sleepily. 

“Yeah?” Harry whispered back. 

“I love you too, you know?”

“Yeah I know. Night sweetheart.” 

Harry fell asleep, smiling stupidly to himself and feeling hopefully for the first time in a long time. Maybe his luck was finally changing, or maybe it wasn't, he didn’t really know, but what he did know, was that things would be better in the morning, and that was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I really hope you liked it. This fic has been sitting in my brain for years and I finally did it.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it
> 
> ps. pls comment im a whore for attention :D  
> Al-in-the-air on tumblr.


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